


Inoculation

by Autodidact



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Author is trans, BDSM, Breathplay, Consensual Non-Consent, Content Warnings By Chapter, Explicit Sexual Content, Fear Play, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Objectification, Rough Oral Sex, Sub Jonah Magnus, Subspace, Trans Jonah Magnus, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24348166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autodidact/pseuds/Autodidact
Summary: Caught in that moment of breathless eternity, Jonahfeelstrue terror wash over him and through him and it is everything and forever.It isexhilarating.
Relationships: Simon Fairchild/Jonah Magnus, The Governor/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 3
Kudos: 54
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus





	1. THE TALE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonah Magnus is trans in this one, and his genitals are referred to as a cock and a cunt.
> 
> Simon Fairchild goes by the name "Giovanni" in this time period.
> 
> This is _loosely_ a prequel/companion piece to [Regarding the Nature of Detachment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23059855), but it's absolutely not necessary reading here. This is more just a meditation on the same kind of erotic inclinations Jonah/Elias has in that fic.  
>   
> Click to view content warnings.

Jonah Magnus was a man with a keen interest in stories. Horrible, dark things. Tales of monsters and monstrous acts and wild, uncaring natures. It would be a lie, of course, for Jonah to say that he wasn't interested in the actual events. Witchcraft and spectres, after all, made for interesting topics of conversation and there was no shortage of studies and accounts. Other scholars could spend their lives there, focused on the occult.

But Jonah Magnus was a voracious reader. And readers, unlike scholars, focused on the protagonist. They saw through their eyes and felt what was in their heart. When Jonah took in a tale of a person's brush up against Terror itself, he put himself wholly in their place and lived (really _lived_ in that way where any misstep could cause them to meet their Maker) vicariously through the words on the page.

Jonah loved the supposedly true accounts most of all. They felt different, in some nebulous way. They hit harder. Fascinated him more.

His interest hadn't bloomed into a full-blown obsession until Jonah had his opportunity to meet the characters— _antagonists_ —in some of his precious tales. A governor, an astronomer, an inheritor, a painter. They felt... _off,_ somehow. Like the architect-friend he came to meet them with, they had their eccentricities—and if he were being honest with himself, so did he. But those four, they talked about their domains with the kind of reverence reserved for God. They mentioned acts of inhuman cruelty conversationally; used words like 'feed' or 'sacrifice' as if part of everyday parlance.

It unnerved Jonah. It _fascinated_ him.

But him being a researcher meant that his skepticism was strong. These odd men whose company he kept held some strange beliefs, but they weren't demons or monsters, surely.

The first time Jonah's doubt is shaken is when he's knocked off his feet by a sudden dizzy spell and collapses straight into the painter's lap. He can feel the solid, bony frame underneath him but he can also feel himself _drop,_ tossed overboard, weighed down with stones in his pockets.

He can't breathe. He is sinking. He can't _breathe_.

A peal of bright laughter breaks whatever enchantment had been placed upon him. Jonah comes back into the room to find Giovanni patting him on the back and telling him, "You're fine, dear. Just having a bit of fun."

Palm to his breast, Jonah feels the rise and fall; his lungs working as intended. That happened, but it also _didn't_ happen.

Mordechai Lukas speaks up, quietly and calmly, as his tone is, always. "It has been entertaining to have an outside perspective in the room, but I think that we could make better progress if you started to believe. We are not delusional, Mr. Magnus."

Jonah hears, sure enough, but does not fully process it. Instead, he turns to regard the gentleman he's sitting on and asks, "Could you do that again?"

"Why, are you asking?"

"I am."

"O- _ho,_ I think we've got ourselves a live one!" The painter laughs at his expense and claps him on the back. "You might want to hold on to something."

And Jonah falls.

Caught in that moment of breathless eternity, he _feels_ true terror wash over him and through him and it is everything and forever.

It is _exhilarating._  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leto can be found on tumblr @auto-didact (general) and @divorcecravat (TMA), or on twitter @quickenedsilver.
> 
> Thanks to procrastinatingbookworm for the beta! If you like reading about Jonah getting wrecked, check out their stuff. It’s superb.
> 
> Many thanks to the kind folks over on the eye horror discord for their help and their enthusiasm.
> 
> **Content warnings:**  
>  Vertigo, mentions of drowning. [return to top]


	2. THE BURIED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Click to view content warnings.

The Governor had a fine appreciation for an attentive mouth or hand wrapped around his dick. What he was especially keen on was winding a hand into Jonah's curly hair and pinning him down with his nose to his pelvis. He would laugh when Jonah started shuddering with discomfort and would thrash him with his heavy cane at the barest hint of teeth.

Jonah hated how worked up he got over being _used_ like that. He loved how cruelly any of the men there pressed into his bruises to hear him cry out while he was being taken. And most of all, he craved the jeering amusement.

_"I think he needs more practice."_

_"It's rude to not swallow everything on your plate, you know."_

_"Good lad. That's enough. You **will** do better next time."_

When one day the Governor brings in a shiny silver ring affixed to a bisected dog's collar and explains what it is for, Jonah wordlessly sinks to his knees to let the man put the ring into his mouth and buckle it tight around his head. Jonah is guided to strip and to lie down on the oversized ottoman which has seen so much of their debauchery already. Throw pillows are brought over, propping up his head and neck. And the Governor, once similarly undressed, comes to straddle the pillows and sits upon his chest.

Jonah doesn't need to be told to get to work on the cock in front of him. It's odd, not being able to properly suck, but he can still bob his head and use his tongue on the length that passes through the oversized ring. The pressure on his chest is almost a comfort, and the weight in his mouth is familiar. Familiar, too, is the idle chatter in the room, the shifting of furniture and clothing, and the sounds of irregular breathing. Slick noises meet Jonah's ears and he _moans._

The Governor gives him a bit of a chance to warm up to it, but his impatience is a powerful force. And poor Jonah is so helpless like this; so _open_ and _inviting._ The Governor shifts, tilting his hips, and smoothly rolls them to piston his cock in deeper. A nice steady rhythm with plenty of time to savour the sounds Jonah's mouth and throat make, being worked over. They have an audience, after all.

But that's never going to be enough, and the both of them know it. The Governor drives his cock in deep, balls resting on Jonah's chin, and waits; watches. Jonah swallows, emulating the rhythm from before. Trying to be good for him, as if any of that could possibly ease any future, unknown torment.

They have played at Jonah being short of breath before, and Jonah could honestly say a part of him liked the bruises around his throat that bloomed the following day. They have even played at Jonah being pinned down on a gentleman's cock before, forced to simply take it. But they haven't done a thing like this, with him wholly unable to escape it. Not with the air being squeezed out of his lungs with no chance of coming back. Jonah's good to the sadistic-minded in the way his face shifts towards discomfort, then panic, then _desperation._ He struggles automatically but there is simply nowhere for him to _go,_ and he only gets the Governor rising up to push his cock down into him further for his trouble. Only once he understands that his protesting is pointless and his eyes start to roll back does the Governor withdraw.

Jonah coughs, wet, spraying thick saliva onto his partner. Some of it gets into his already-teary eyes and he blinks to clear them. As thanks—as _foolish_ thanks—he tongues at the Governor's balls and earns an appreciative hum for his trouble.

The Governor doesn't ask him if he's ready for more, and nor would he really want him to. Jonah has to tuck his hands under his bottom to resist the urge to touch himself. Even so, his hips still arch and roll up off the ottoman, chasing stimulation which simply isn't there. The cock fills up a space inside his too-tight chest, it seems, and every ram of it packs his breath in deeper. His moments are numbered. He doesn't waste them on struggling, this time.

When the Governor pulls out, Jonah gasps like a man drowning. There is laughter in the room around them and his face _burns._ God, the picture he must make. This debauched without a hand on him. This aching for it without a single word of praise.

That very quickly changes when the Governor drives his way back into his waiting mouth. He catches him on an exhale and he uselessly swallows around the unforgiving length as if air could come in with it. The futility feels splendid enough for the Governor to settle, weight almost wholly on his face, and he rocks into Jonah more to agitate his attempts at adjusting than to derive any satisfaction from the motion.

It feels _wrong,_ intrusively wrong, this time. Jonah's world is crushing weight on him; around him; _in_ him. His body is small and brittle, lips splintering at the edges. The wet on his face is as insignificant as tear-tracks being made through mud. Jonah needs to expel and purge everything inside of him, _violently,_ and he struggles in earnest, bracing his feet and arms on the ottoman and trying to buck the Governor off.

The Governor thinks it cute and tells him so. Fucks into Jonah with _malice_ now and delights in all his whining gagging. He does not slow or stop until Jonah goes quiet and pliant and very, very still. Even then he's tempted to continue; to violate him with no resistance. But he doesn't. Sits back on his heels and takes in the sight of Jonah, pale and open-mouthed and breathing shallow. The way the spit sticks his eyelashes to his cheeks. He's tempted to finish to that sight; to add his own come to all of that mess. But he has other plans in mind.

The Governor snaps his fingers in Rayner's direction, asking for what they had discussed. He passes over a phial of smelling salts, which the Governor unstoppers and holds under Jonah's nose.

With a sniff, Jonah blinks awake, and is immediately greeted with the dual sensations of a cock upon his tongue and a hand in his hair, holding his skull in place. Jonah Magnus is fucked so hard that he will have honest concerns about his nose breaking later, because right now there's only breathless shock and muffled _screaming._ The crushing sensation is back, and he finds he cannot will his limbs to move. All he can do is yell, and weep, and wait for it to be over.

The Governor finds all of that much more attractive than he should. Once the phial is taken from him he laces his fingers together behind Jonah's head to hold him more securely in place. He drives into Jonah like he's not even a person—just a hole available for his instinct and his pleasure. He spends himself into warm, convulsing damp, and it's the most natural thing in the world.

He'd like to stay down there forever, but eventually he notices Jonah's sounds settling down and the eyes rolling into the back of his head. So the Governor lets Jonah’s head drop down onto the ottoman and rests his softening cock close to Jonah's mouth, feeling him pant and sob nearly right upon him.

"Had enough, Jonah?" The voice comes in from elsewhere, and Jonah is too far away to sort out who it belongs to; too distant, mentally, to respond.

Jonah does not protest the touch of someone's hands on the inside of his thighs, spreading his legs apart. He arches into the first cool contact of fingers dragging through his wetness, and chokes out a damp gasp when they slide into his heat.

He does protest the attempt to unbuckle the gag, however, thrashing his head when another person tries. He cannot tell who it is, for his glasses are removed and the tears obscure his vision even further. A voice asks him if he wants more, and fingers press down on his tongue, and Jonah cannot suck with the gag on but he can certainly lick and nod his head.

Everything after the near-suffocation comes easily to him. Jonah doesn't have to think, and he doesn't have to respond around the cock in his mouth, or the next, or the next. When his cunt is taken too he feels it reach _deep_ into him; into his totality itself. He is a body; a receptacle; here to be sunk and rooted into. Just a body, earthly and sublimely present.  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leto can be found on tumblr @auto-didact (general) and @divorcecravat (TMA), or on twitter @quickenedsilver.
> 
> Thanks again to procrastinatingbookworm for the beta!
> 
> Many thanks to the kind folks over on the eye horror discord for their help and their enthusiasm.
> 
> **Content warnings:**  
>  Asphyxiation, consensual non-consent, humiliation, objectification, paralysis, rough oral sex, and vaginal sex. [return to top]


End file.
